Eredas vs Epothos

Stage0: Preliminaries

The Things Fox Hates Dojo

I think they may do Taekwondo here, and hey, is that a picture of John Cena?

A fighting arena of classical proportion, though those proportions don't have to be exactly defined. As long as the dojo has four walls, a roof and a floor, we're good with whatever size you decide on. The decor of course is just what you'd picture from an old kung-fu movie.

Terrain

General - Regular indoor floor, as interrupted occasionally by a mat for padding.

Weapons - One picture of John Cena.

Bonus Effects - Across the street one can occasionally hear mariachi music from the all night restaurant.

Red Player: Epothos, Stryphe Ebrowen

Representing: Ugly Bastards

Played By: Gino

Blue Player: James Eredas

Representing: Team God Caliber

Played By: Fierach

Dusk was settling in by the times James Eredas picked up a distant whistling to the tune of the flamenco guitar across the street, intertwined together and filtering in through the thin wooden frame of the dojo. The tiny particles in the air swayed and danced through the orange light of the setting sun, riding a cool draft. There was something ominous about the peacefulness, but peaceful it was and as peaceful as it was like to be for a while.

Outside, across the street, the frantic, saucy picking of the guitar picked up pace. The whistler had finished his whistling, replaced his wind instrument with something more percussive- footsteps. Too faint to be very close, but audible. The band crescendoed. Tmp, tmp, tmp. The footsteps, or drums across the street? The light filtering through the bars in the wooden, sliding door of the dojo parted for the silhouette James had been so eagerly waiting for.

FFFFFFAP.

"They've finished their song..." A voice came in through the open sliding door before a man did. It was smooth, cool, with an antagonizing edge to it. The owner of the foreboding nonchalance was a man only a few inches taller than James Eredas, not counting his hair. It was wild, knotted, tangled, and all shapes and sizes of dreadlocks and curls were dispersed throughout. Wet, the entire mass probably didn't reach much further than his shoulders, dry, it reached wherever it wanted. His eyes were deeply set, and green. His stare was hard, as were his facial features. Carved of stone, he might have been, all hard lines and jaggedness. A face made for sinister sneers and other harsh expressions. He was sporting a beard short enough to still lay flat on his jaw.

Epothos wore a plain white t-shirt, not too tight but not too loose, and a pair of camouflage cargo shorts that extended just past his kneecaps. The half-demon was all tight muscle, but little of it showed beneath the shirt and shorts. What his muscles lacked in mass they made up for in concentration, so he packed more power than his almost lithe shape might let on. No shoes. Bare toes tugged at the matting beneath them, as if to acquaint themselves with the battlefield.

The spear was chambered against Epothos' right shoulder, teetering lazily between the weight of the blade itself and the half-demons right arm, a half-hazard grip barely keeping the weapon in place. The tiny particles in the air seemed to stop, hanging on his words. Sharp, emerald eyes shot James a look that cleaved the half-demons casual facade in two- or was it James they were cleaving?

"...now we're up."

And it would be still no more.

Fierach Wrote:

"Y'know", James started casually, and began to walk toward him slowly, testing to see how close his foe was willing to let him get to him before reacting.

"If you wanted to wait for the song to finish, all you had to do, w-"

-1-

Stryphe rose on the balls of his feet ever so slightly, as if coiling, and it was as if Eredas had stepped on a hair trigger when the blade came descending upon him, arcing over twelve feet of space with such force and speed it might have cleaved the boundaries of space. In the space of a blink the Spearman dropped his loose grip on the halberd shaft two feet down, fastening his grip near the very end of the pole. Four feet of sturdy shaft remained between his hand and his shoulder, and four more beyond it (note: max length = eight feet). In one more blink and he would yank downwards with his right hand while bringing up his left to meet the pole as it met the highest point of his fulcrum and dropped. His entire body supported the downward portion of Stryphe's, following the motion he'd set in place just fractions of a second beforehand, at the beginning of his attack.

In the end, the attack from the trained victims eyes would come in three most likely phases: If Epothos' opponent was perceptive and paying close attention, he'd first notice the half-demon's weight being gently thrusted upwards by the balls of his feet, something that could mean anything. The rising of the spear behind Epothos' back would be the crucial time to take action, as the falling arc of the attack would reach out and claw you deceptively fast, gaining a massive boost of power as the momentum all wove together.

The look on Epothos' face had become stoic, confident in his opponents ability to counter or dodge the attack (though there was amusement to be had in the grim irony of a disqualification from the tournament). The move required more of the half-demon than a calmly maneuvered dodge would cost his foe, but it would bring the Spearman's opponent and Death face to face. Simple, steel death. Live or die, kill or be killed was in the blood of all men, and Epothos aimed to stir that blood with in James.

Uno.

The wooden floor exploded where the spear collided, springing the weapon upwards within reach of James' grasp.

This weapon is an extension of my body, boy. You[ cannot control it.

FSS!

The knife hissed through the air, eager to give the half-demon and cold, steel kiss. He was still crouched, right hand closest to him, at the very end of the pole; his left hand was about a foot farther up.

James' combat knife disappeared into the sudden blur of motion made by Epothos' wild head of hair as he shoved away from the ground and forward, relinquishing his right grip on the spear and shifting his left upwards enough so that when he pivoted his torso to the right the shaft was locked in between his forearm and back. With more torque than James could fight with one arm and with a growl of effort, Epothos broke the martial artists grip and sent the pole crashing against Eredas' underarm, the blade sticking out from underneath the other side of the armpit.

"Nnn-GRAH!" He stomped, grounding himself as the spear's pole collided with James' underarm, sending forth another surge of effort that would knock the martial artist off balance and shove the top quarter of James' body towards James' free arm. Right to left- directly opposing the pressure he'd been applying on the Spearman's weapon. Just one break in James' footing would allow Stryphe to follow through with this momentum and turn the martial artist into a fragile, fleshy sledgehammer bound for the floor.

A few yards behind the Spearman the combat knife stood, embedded into the wooden floor, and watched, drooling blood. Stryphe's blood.

Dos.

The mariachi music across the street restored itself, adding it's own blistering fervor to the fight in the dojo.

"UNF."

The kick his home, Epothos doubled over and, for a second, it looked like a string of brutal attacks could be made against the Spearman. It was long enough to see the blood dripping from the tip of his nose, lips and jaw. James couldn't see the right side of the half-demons face, but the knife had grazed his cheek, a shallow gash opened him up from cheek to jaw.

"Very brave," It was almost one word, hissed from between clenched teeth. Whether or not Stryphe's tone was out of contempt or lack of breath James' couldn't be sure- it was both.

SWOOSH-THUNK-CRRRSPLINTERINGCRAASH!

The half-demons right hand had been free the entire time, and when James sent his boot into Stryphe's gut the Spearman almost hadn't braced himself against the attack enough to strike back. The force had surprised him, but not stopped or slowed him. The steel grip around his ankle would be the last thing James knew before his world was turned upside down, before he could press the attack. Having done nothing to neutralize the threat of Epothos' spear, still in motion, it had been easy to curve the direction of the weapon and interrupt the martial artists combat steps. The spear had swept James' remaining planted leg out from underneath him, then Stryphe had let go of the weapon, sending it spinning across the room until it impaled the picture of John Cena in the face.

The Spearman had continued the motion of his discarded weapon, taking James' pant-leg in exchange as he pivoted on the balls of his feet and hurled the martial artist through the dojo entrance, splintering away half of the door and spilling the fight out into the street in a shower of glass/wood debris and one James Eredas. In essence, Epothos had done little more than spin 270 degrees, exchanging his weapon for his opponent within the motion, even well before the 180 degree point in the pivot.

"Huff, huff..." For the first time since the fight began he broke his stoic, chiseling his pokerface away with the upturned side of his mouth. The side covered in blood. "Maybe the dojo was a bad choice," He mocked, "try to remember we're not sparring partners."

Tres.

"Very bra-"

And then the martial artist's other leg came looming up over Stryphe's shoulder on a direct course for the Spearman's face. His left arm, at this point, was free, the sweeping blow meant nothing, but Stryphe had let go of it nonetheless. The spear would still slay the picture of John Cena. His left arm was free, and extended under the leg Stryphe already had, by the time James' free leg was making it's last quarter rotation from the ground.

"Fast," He growled as his left forearm snapped up, the impact of James' shin absorbed by the fleshy side of Stryphe's palm. His head snapped backward in reflex when the tip of Eredas' boot took up the half-demons entire vision, but not before the remaining inertia from the attack snapped the boot into his left eye, the bridge of his nose absorbing some of the impact as well. This did not stop him from, blooding streaming from his left nostril and one eye forced closed, taking two lunging steps for the door, both James' legs firmly in his grasp by the material of the fighter's clothing. James could struggle all he wanted, but he'd exposed himself to total control giving up his last leg. The half-demon would have to give him credit for it later though- if he'd taken the full force of the kick it the risk would have been well worth it.

Snarling, Epothos took his two steps to get the motion going before he would spin, gathering enough momentum to heft James' upper body into the air, and throw, once again attempting to send Eredas through the glass and wood between them and the street.

Fo'.

Bodily forces out of his control dictated that his eye still stay shut as Epothos tried to blink over and over, trying to judge the damage. His nose ached to all hell, but he was sure there wasn't a break or fracture. James would re-emerge into the dojo to see the Spearman plunking his weapon out of the wall, half of his face in tears and squinting, the other half blood; the warm, coppery-tasting life flowed over the half-demons lips, mottled in with his beard. His white t-shirt showed signs of where James' boot had twisted and stretched the fabric.

The half-demon would take a second to grip the spear with both hands and test it's weight, almost as if picking it up for the first time. It was heavy.

"Welcome," he gripped the damn thing like a baseball bat, sidestepped for clearance of the wall a few yards from his right, "BACK!" and sent it helicoptering across the room, at the only other bloody guy in sight. Stryphe broke into a run, certain his opponent would have to go low to avoid the weapon, his powerful legs would chain the two attacks together well, but he was wary of fancy maneuvers, and would deal with them the best he could as they came.

Foive.

The combatants had rushed one another, one extending a mid-level punch and the other chambering his right leg for a barefoot punt. One of them, a starchart of broken glass with hidden steel behind his back; the other, bloody-faced and black-eyed. The half demon's long, fresh cut on the side of his face was an oozing red reminder of the combat knife his foe had just recovered, but the painful whispers of the wound would not reach the Spearman's ears. The knife went without notice, but James chambering his right arm did not.

Epothos wasn't much concerned anyways- his choice was clear. Eredas was smooth and precise in his dodge, flowing into and against Stryphe's onslaught. When two currents such as these met with such force, unpredictable, chaotic waters could result. One last step away from contact, as he and his opponent would throw their whole bodies into their attacks, the half-demon was going to go upstream and break the crest of James Eredas' proverbial wave.

Meaning James would have two sturdy knees blasting up at his face like a giant, two-knuckled fist, on a path through the upper back part of his head, not the top. Without the weight of his spear, the lancer left the ground and achieved altitude faster than with the weapon- which was fast. By jumping then tucking, he was able to simultaneously replace what was in front of James' oncoming fist: what was once a vital, soft attack point would now be hard, curvaceous, deflective bone and muscle.

Six.

It had all gone according to plan up until the point where the lancer's left knee area had been struck by lighting- STEEL lightning in the form of that sneaky bastards knife. There was a fire burning somewhere deep amidst the bone and tendons, it's painful heat radiating throughout Stryphe's entire leg, it felt to him.

He'd landed somewhat roughly into a disheveled crouched position, immediately buckling under the grievous pain that came of stressing the inner workings of his joint against sharp steel. He seethed with hate, breathing sharply through clenched teeth, reaching desperately for the sense to salvage what may be left of what he'd had in mind. If Stryphe hadn't of come out of that exchange with a knife in his knee, he would have leaped almost clear to the entrance and recovered his weapon. It would have been easy to force a yield from the disoriented martial artist after that.

In the end, he'd wound up closer to James than the door- much closer, and much less disoriented than James, although pretty minus one ******** leg.

I have to move...

"Nnn!" He held his breath and yanked, cursing loudly in pain, anger and relief. The half-demon was no stranger to pain, but the wound still hurt terribly. It was a duller pain now that the knife was gone, and bearable. James was rolling to safety and the Spearman feared that if he let the martial artist recover now it could be over.

But no, there was no getting up. Damnit!He cursed, I can't put any pressure on that leg or it feel like my knee is going to fall apart. He shifted, painfully, into a kneel. His bad knee was up, which hurt, but it was a better place for it than against the floor. Blood spider-webbed all the way down his leg and was pooling a little around his foot. The only other two options were to stand on one foot, which seemed absolutely stupid, or to lie down. He could only be glad that James was more worn than him, but what was that when you're crippled? ...A lot.

He tossed the knife across the dojo, never wanting to see it again, and spit.

Epothos' untamed locks shrouded most of his face as he glared across the floor at James Eredas. There were chunks of hair caked into the blood on the right side of his face, blood covering his lips and staining skin beneath his short, stubbly beard red. His breathing slowed, and then he began to rise. The leg bearing the stabbed knee quivered and he fought not to wince, screaming a thousand curses in the back of his mind, focusing hard to leave that leg with as little weight as possible. Even if he did manage to stand, he knew he wasn't going anywhere. He'd only be able to make one more move now, and he didn't have a plan. It was all on James.

"I like your kung fu," He said in a gnarly hiss, "somehow I get the feeling a common thug would agree with me."

Seven.

He narrowed his eyes at the Martial Artists comment. Well, one eye. My loss... we'll see.

FWOOSH.

It would be apparent that both of the fighters had been holding back when the green in Stryphe's eyes erupted in emerald flames, filling his oculars and obscuring them from sight. Soulful, human eyes were replaced by coiling, billowing, wispy spitfires of demonic energies, split into a dozen different snaking streams as raw power slithered up through the tangles of his hair.

CRACK.

Liked starved snakes racing for prey, the streams hissed and crackled their way down Epothos' right arm. As the green tendrils coiled around his flesh his veins swelled and pumped furiously, muscles bulged stressfully. He rose his arm as if to strike a nail with a hammer, then brought it down.

The sound was furious as two opposite energies collided, sounding something similar to a train screeching to a halt inside a thunderbolt. The sound itself seemed enough to topple the dojo itself, flimsy by comparison.

Stryphe had bent low on his good leg and raked downward against Eredas' flames, like a blacksmith forging a weapon of the Gods with nothing to protect his frail human body from the earth-shattering tempering. Except it was Epothos' energies that would buffer most of the attack. The pain was only buffered by the already great amount of pain the half-demon was in- pain didn't matter now. What mattered was that he could still move three of his limbs and Eredas' potentially devastating attack and main defense, in this situation, was neutralized.

The emerald energy around his arm had been washed away, but filled it's place again in an instant, like a sea parted and made whole. Stryphe's arm rose with the tide, along with the rest of him. He lunged forward, the strength of his one good leg alone making the attack a full fledged tackle.

James would have time to go in any of four possible directions for a dodge, each bearing a risk of Stryphe catching hold of him in one way or another, leaving the Martial Artist ensnared and defensless. If they clashed, well... Epothos had suffered the worst of it the last time but...

But now there's no knife hidden behind your back...

8

After Stryphe had dealt with the axe-kick flame attack, Eredas wasted no time in giving him two options. The Spearman could could go through with his tackle and dive straight under his foe, gaining him nothing, or defend against the air-born, flaming sledgehammer kick in some way.

He could hardly stand and was half reeling from the shock of stopping Eredas' first wave of ki attacks. Performing a dodge would likely cost him his footing, and if it was lost he wouldn't gain it back. The left side of me is mostly all ******** up anyways... He leaned to the left.

CRACK.

The only thing that kept the Spearman from being carried by the attack, smashed into the ground, by the Martial Artist's leg was the snapping of his left collarbone, the dislocation of his shoulder. It felt like a hot, iron stake had been driven down through him, burning, searing deep into his soul. A flash of white light took over everything, even his left eye, swollen shut, felt blinded by the shock.

If his left shoulder wasn't so well attached to the rest of him it would have come clean off, which would have allowed the Martial Artist to complete his motion. Epothos' bones were broken- the cost of providing an opening in such a desperate situation.

There was no thought, no commentary. Pure instinct brought his right arm, still empowered by his demonic energies, to James' ankle before inertia carried it away from his broken shoulder. Stryphe's grip would feel very different from the last time he'd caught hold of James, his strength multiplied by the spell over his arm. Last time, the Spearman had only been able to manipulate James' body with minimal control... Under this force, Eredas might as well have been a rag-doll.

Stryphe's bad knee buckled under the attack, his good knee going with it, and he would fall. James would be coming down with him, jerked down in the opposite direction he'd been going, slammed chest/head/torso first into the floor with the strength of a gigantic, russian wrestling Czar, splintering the floor and sending dust up from every inch of the dojo.

9

There was pressure and deep pain, a lot of it. It was somewhere far away though.

There was somewhere his mind had to go to keep him from completely losing consciousness from the pain of having multiple broken bones jarred and twisted in agonizing positions. The wound on the right side of his face, tugged at by the friction of a leg forming a vice grip around his neck, was once reopened and searing, pouring another round of blood. His already bad knee brought to the ground so hard there was a quaking, cold universe of pain suggesting something had finally actually snapped.

James would have a snarling, slavering, teeth-gnashing beast in his grasp, one eye swollen shut, but the other wide and enraged, the emerald flames reaching, reaching, reaching for James Eredas, crackling and hissing in hatred, vengeance. There was no desperation in the demon now, no more intelligent planning, no moves, no game.

And like the green fire in his eye, Epothos was reaching, reaching, reaching. James would find it hard to get his legs in too threatening a grip around the half-demons neck with Stryphe's bicep in the way, but he could still hold tight. The Demonslayer's catch wasn't concerned with the Demonslayer's legs. Those were nothing.

All Stryphe could see was his own right hand against James' torso, quivering with rage, roiling with ferocity, the emerald fire roaring around his clawed fingers that were breaking James' skin, working their way under bone, rending...

The sound traveled to some part of Stryphe he had set aside and, as the buzzer rang, the monster James held to calmed, staying it's hand. The remaining wisps of green energy flowed softly through the air after the one eye slowly closed. The half-demon slept.

His fingers would still have to be pulled out of James Eredas' body, one by one.

10